A Confession
by DominiqueMorgenstern
Summary: A TLH fanfic (1907) - Lucie asks her parabatai, Cordelia, about her true feelings for her brother, James Herondale.


Cordelia Carstairs was at the London Institute, in her parabatai's bedroom. Lucie was occupied in getting dressed for dinner, sitting in the cushioned mahogany stool between the wide semi-circle of her dressing table, plucking jewelled pins and clasps from heavy folds of plaited brown hair, which cascaded plumply over her shoulders, and down her back.

Cordelia sat on the bed, and stared over at the tea service that they'd forgotten about; it had long since turned cold. She turned her head to look out the window, and felt very tired. The daylight was beginning to wither, and the beclouded sky was coloured in plums and blues and violets. She considered putting an energy rune on her arm, but, these days, she rather revelled in the feeling of tight-eyed, light-headed exhaustion.

The bedroom thrummed with the echoed twang of angry words and petulant gestures spoken, it seemed, seconds before, though it was actually minutes. Lucie had exploded that Cordelia was proud, and she wished for a moment that she wouldn't be; Cordelia had replied that her pride was all she had. Lucie had gone pink with the effort of restraining herself from saying something, before she'd flung her hands around, and declared that they should talk about something else, or nothing at all. Presently, unravelling the tight plaits in her hair, Lucie threw down her brush, and eyed her parabatai from the reflection of the circular mirror. "Cordelia," she said enquiringly, "You like my brother, don't you?"

Cordelia looked at her reflection. "Yes; why?"

"I don't mean that. I mean you _admire _him, yes?"

Cordelia couldn't help a gloomy smile. "Who doesn't? Why do you ask?"

Lucie's tone dipped. "No, I meant you like him _more _than the others,"

Cordelia frowned at her, "Are you talking about that time years ago when I…Oh, Lucie," She chuckled once scornfully, "You can't believe I still harbour a childish—infatuation—can you? I've long since forgotten about it."

Lucie tossed her half-loose plait over her back, and swivelled round. "You know, you're a frightfully good liar."

Emotions chased across Cordelia's face: disbelief, confusion, indignation, sadness. She swallowed, and took out her stele. Her finger pressed into its sharp, quill-like tip, thinking about the energy runes again. She wondered how long a Shadowhunter could survive with energy runes as their only subsistence, before starvation claimed them. She murmured, "Goodness, Lucie. I didn't know you thought me so obvious."

Lucie looked away, and turned to face the mirror again. "Of course I don't; I just wondered…"

"What?"

"Why you never told him?"

"What, _declared _myself to him? Throw myself at his feet? Like all the other girls, you mean? What would posses me to do that?"

Lucie's hands came up behind her, deftly undoing her hair. The shape of her hands were pale, slim and graceful, very lovely and ladylike at a distance; but Cordelia saw differently. She saw Lucie's blunt, boyish nails, the joints calloused, perpetually stained in blue and black ink from writing; their iron strength, the thin scars of demon hunting thatched across the back of her hands. The Angel knew, Cordelia thought, Shadowhunting was not something that lent itself easily to feminine softness. "Grace Blackthorn."

"What about her?"

Lucie's voice tightened as her hands moved further up her head. "You see what she's done to him, Cordy. My parents are despairing. They see their son in the throes of agony and they have no idea why, or what's causing it. And nor can I tell them. I've never seen him like this: so dejected, so irascible; everything is an annoyance, subject to his bitter mockery. He spends all his time training. He's in ruins. And it's all," There was a pin that had tangled in her hair, and she wrenched at it violently, wincing, "because of _her_, and I can't watch anymore. His degradation. I don't want to watch him live out his life in misery because of a cruel, beautiful girl he'll never have—a girl who will never deserve him—"

Cordelia protested, "I don't understand what this has to do with me?"

"Is it not plain?" Her hands fell to her sides. "You _do _deserve him."

Cordelia let out a laboured sigh. She put her stele away, seeing her task at hand, and the necessity of it: otherwise, Lucie would never let this foolishness drop. "Lucie, I won't ever tell James that I care…for him, because it's hopeless. I know that; I have no illusions. I know that I will always be his little sister's parabatai. Because, if I did – what would come of it, apart from my broken heart? It would ruin everything. We'd never be able to look at each other across the table again. There was a time, a long time ago, when I hoped—but really, what am I, in comparison to _Grace_? The moment people see her, they're enraptured. And I don't blame them. I don't blame your brother a bit for falling….Grace is _without compare. _I, however, am not. I am unmemorable, I am not beautiful, I am not witty, I am not particularly intelligent, or a good Shadowhunter: I don't excel at anything at all. I'm entirely mediocre. There is absolutely nothing I could give your brother that would satisfy him. That would make him happy."

"Cordelia." Lucie's voice was a whip, with the asperity of a reprimand. Something in the rich blue of her eyes flashed in the mirror. "You do yourself a gross disservice. How can you speak in that way about yourself? You don't truly believe all that nonsense, do you?"

Cordelia got up from the bed. She went to stand behind Lucie's stool. She peered down at her reflection. "Yes, I do. And please don't attempt to convince me otherwise, because it won't work."

Lucie shook her head angrily, her lips a tight line. "Well, I know of one thing you can certainly give him which she can't: not even _you _can deny it."

"What? Love, I suppose?"

"You don't think it's important?"

Cordelia leaned her hands on the back of her stool and shrugged."Not when there are hundreds of other girls that are equally as well qualified to love him."

"By the angel, Cordy," Lucie put her head in her hands. She muttered, "You're impossible."

This roused a smile from Cordelia. She started unknotting the plaits that Lucie had abandoned. She said affectionately, "I think you're a hopeless romantic, Lucie."

"If I'm a romantic, then you're a cynic,"

Cordelia's fingers stopped moving. She began in a hard voice, "Lucie—"

"Don't you see?" Lucie spun around, gripping the sides of the stool, her eyes imploring. "She _can't. _Grace _can't _love him. I can't picture her ever loving anyone. And even if she did, _some_how, it wouldn't be _love. _He'd be shackled to her caprice: a calculated, harsh, deformed love. The love of—a vampire and its subjugate, slowly turning them blind and inhuman and enslaved—"

Cordelia laughed. "By the angel, Lucie, if you don't read far too many novels—"

Lucie's eyebrows peaked, but she turned around again. She informed the mirror primly, "Don't let my parents hear you say that. They'd turn you onto the streets for blasphemy."

Cordelia said nothing, and nor did Lucie.

Cordelia hoped she would drop it now. But then, just as she was extracting the last pin—"The point is, Cordy, I believe you're wrong because I've seen him looking at you. He looks at you differently."

"That's just because we've known each other a long time."

"No—have you not noticed? The change in the way he looks at you. I know that look, and it isn't…"

Cordelia set down the pin on the table, and unthreaded the last locks of her hair with her fingers, and stepped back. "Don't be silly. Everyone knows your brother is an outrageous flirt. Women twice his age get hot flushes around him."

"Precisely—he doesn't flirt anymore. Not since Grace so completely consumed him. All that's left of him is a shell—of torment and misery. But when he looks at you, I think I see some life enter his eyes again."

"You're imagining things."

"I am _not_,"

"Then I dare say he was drunk and craved attention—"

Abruptly, Lucie stood, and whirled round, the beads on her evening dress swinging as she did."He was _not _drunk! I can't believe you refuse to help me—to understand that why I want to help him!"

Cordelia didn't mean to shout, and she regretted that it somehow came out like that."Because you plan to_ use _me to make him happy! You would rather _I _be unhappy than your brother!"

"What?! Of course n—"

"Yes! Because that's the only thing that would come if it—don't _you_understand? Lucie, I decided a long time ago—No. Let me start at the beginning." She took a deep breath, and looked towards the door. "When I realised that your brother would never return my feelings it was because I realised he would never _truly _see me the way I saw him; that was impossible. In my head, he would just _endure _my affection, but never return it. And I thought that was the way it would always be. I accepted it. Even if, by some miracle, he wanted to be with me: it would only be because he couldn't be someone like Grace. If he was ever with me, it would be because he'd _resigned _himself to me. And—I don't know—perhaps you'll tell me I'm conceited or my standards are too lofty where a boy like your brother is concerned, but – I don't want to live the rest of my life _knowing _the person I love most in the world was with me because there was—no other agreeable alternative. That every time he linked his arm in mine and turned his face to me, all he felt a horrible mixture of pity and resentment and sadness and regret. All my life—I've watched married people look at each other like that, and I'd always thought—with myself, it would be different, when my time came. And I couldn't bear that: knowing I was marrying myself to that. Neither for myself, nor for him. I'd much rather live a life in his periphery, than a life where he cringes to look at me at all. If I ever make a match, it'll be because we mutually care for one another. I refuse to settle for anything less."

Lucie's intake of breath was almost a gasp. Her eyes had turned wide, wondering. Her voice was scratchy, almost a whisper. "I find it baffling—_incomprehensible— _that you've managed to convince yourself of something that has not, and you have no way of knowing ever _would, _happen, if you told my brother—I can't believe that you think…And even if he did, have you never considered that he would learn to love you? Sometimes, it's not always_instantaneous._"

"To _force _himself to love me, you mean? Because of pity, or guilt? No, I don't want that: I won't accept that."

"So—so, what? You're just _content _with watching him _destroy _himself over a worthless girl—"

"No of course I'm not! I wish I could help _but I don't see how it's in my power to._If there was anything in the world he wanted, I would give it, without question. But I'm not so foolish as to lay myself at his feet, waiting to be trampled. Because he'll do to me exactly what Grace did to him."

Lucie was silent, for a while. "You think my brother would treat you thus? You think him so heartless?"

"I don't know what I think of your brother, Lucie. But I suppose that indifference does resemble heartlessness, sometimes, doesn't it?"

Lucie's head snapped towards the door. "Did you hear that?"

"No—"

"Someone's coming! Quick."

Cordelia grabbed a book of Lucie's, lying half open on the bed and seated herself whilst Lucie leaped to her stool and began organising her dark mane of hair on top of her head. A sharp tap sounded, and without waiting to be admitted, the door opened.

Cordelia peeked above her book, and watched the door bang against the wall as James Herondale leant against it, on the threshold of the room: a tall, dark, lugubrious tower belted with weapons and a bleak expression. His eyes wandered the room as he licked his lips. Cordelia felt heat storm through her, flushing her face. She thought, _No, no, I am not fit to tie his shoe laces,_amongst many other over-excited things that she'd be thoroughly ashamed of later. His voice was cool and sarcastic, "I have the distinct sense I've interrupted something."

Cordelia hoped Lucie would answer, but she continued to arrange her hair. Then, she said dubiously, "Do you?"

"Yes. It came on the stairs, actually, when I heard raised voices, and then a 'Someone's coming! Quick', before they fell silent. Very odd. Don't worry. I shan't enquire. Though I must confess the scene before me is not nearly as entertaining as the one I'd imagined."

Lucie turned and glared at him. "Is there a _reason _you're here?"

"Yes. Actually. Dinner."

"Alright." Cordelia snapped her book shut, and jumped up. She turned to Lucie, "Then I'll go."

Lucie stood up, facing her. "You're going—but you _can't_—you promised Mama you'd stay—"

"Then you'll have to offer my sincerest apologies to Mrs Herondale—"

Lucie approached her, as if to detain her: Cordelia stepped back. "No, please, Cordy, I'm sorry. I swear, I won't mention it ever again—please say you'll forgive me?"

"Of course—I just need—to go," Cordelia felt her eyes and face smouldering, her throat dry with embarrassment. "Good evening, Lucie. James." She turned and went towards the door, but James didn't move out of her way.

Instead, James put out a hand, and brushed his finger lightly along the edge of her jaw. Cordelia flinched, and looked at him, astounded, but found that he was examining his finger: there was a tear trembling on its tip. Cordelia had not realised she was crying. In a low voice that only allowed James and herself to hear, he murmured, "I can't remember the last time I cried. Can't remember how to do it. I wish I could. I remember thinking it helped."

Cordelia tried to swallow. Had he been lying? Had he heard what they'd said before? All that they'd said? She stated, "It doesn't."

He said nothing and moved out of her way. She flew past, blinking away another tear. As she pranced down the stairs, she heard James comment glibly, "What _have_ you done?"

"Made a very big mess of things."


End file.
